


A Respite

by joypendants



Series: A Romantic Tragedy in Snapshots [3]
Category: Until Dawn (Video Game)
Genre: Bittersweet, Cuddling & Snuggling, Half-Wendigo Josh Washington, M/M, Mutual Pining, can we get some uuuuuh yearning, i rated it t bc im paranoid abt this shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-27
Updated: 2020-05-27
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:47:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24398245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/joypendants/pseuds/joypendants
Summary: After The Event, Chris returns to the mountain.
Relationships: Chris Hartley/Josh Washington
Series: A Romantic Tragedy in Snapshots [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1742815
Comments: 4
Kudos: 77





	A Respite

**Author's Note:**

> This is unbeta'd, so please forgive any errors that might be there. This one can alternatively be called 'the yearning physically pains me', and it is part three of my four part series. I meant to post it a few days ago, but work happened, oops.

Returning to the mountain after what Chris has taken to calling ‘The Event’ took a little longer than Chris would like to admit to. Certainly, what happened was...upsetting, a sharp knife twisting in his chest, a bundle of nerves that sits heavy on his lungs, but it is what it is, he tells himself. It is what it is, and they can only move past it. There was no harm done, really; no-one got hurt.

 _Just gotta be a bit louder about announcing myself,_ Chris had told Josh upon his next return: _Learning curve, right?_ The smile that had accompanied Chris’ words was genuine, though it was still belied a certain anxiety that bubbled below the surface. 

They did not speak of it beyond that: what more was there to say? They don’t make cards for _I’m-sorry-I-almost-killed-you_ , and even if they _did,_ it wasn’t exactly like Josh could run down to the store to get one –– and, really, it wasn’t like Chris was much of a premade cards guy.

All the same, after The Event, for the next days/weeks (how did one count time when there were mandatory gaps in their meetings?), Josh held a careful distance from Chris, even when it was apparent Josh was purely, wholly himself –– Chris did not comment on it. He was never sure what to say, instead opting to act as if everything was normal. Maybe there was another close call, but Josh never hurt him, never again laid a finger (claw?) on him in anything even remotely close to what had happened before: Josh always knew it was him, Chris’ voice seeming to bring him back to himself. 

In those days, he would sit in the cabin with Josh, and it always began the same way. He would sit next to Josh, talking about nothing and everything, and Josh would find some excuse to stand, to move away, pacing over to the window, stoking the fire (Josh is always cold now, so cold), getting something-or-other from a different area of the cabin. Some part of Chris’ heart always wanted to curl and wilt away, though he knows the perceived rejection is not because of him, not _really_ anyway.

It passed, of course, as these things are wont to do, but… 

There is something heartbreaking, he has come to realize, in being there with someone, being so physically close to them, but feeling as if they were on entirely separate worlds. ( _Maybe we are,_ Chris thinks in the dark hours of the night, when it is just him and the moon: _Maybe we’re two ships in the night, now._ These thoughts are quashed as fast as they arose, though they live on in the graveyard of his mind.) 

The journey is now a familiar one to Chris, and he feels oddly comfortable in it. Get a ride to the foot of the cable car, take the cable car up, and call out for Josh. He has learned to call once or twice, wait a few minutes for _anything,_ and, then, and only then if he hears nothing, he begins his walk to the cabin. Today, though, Chris doesn’t need to worry about walking all the way to the cabin to find Josh; Josh appears just as Chris is about to call for him the second time, a flicker of movement in Chris’ periphery that makes him jump.

A hand instinctively goes up to protect his face, Chris’ heart speeding up for a moment before he realizes who it is. “Jesus, I _swear_ I need to get you a bell or somethin’, dude,” he says, jabbing a finger towards Josh as he speaks. “You’re gonna give me a heart attack, you know that?” Chris shakes his head, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets as he rocks back on his heels.

“Yeah, well, lucky for me, _you_ make enough noise for–– for the whole mountain to know...you’re here,” Josh responds, and his voice still carries that rough edge of disuse, words rasping in his throat, as if his vocal chords are full of dust. Words are still halting at times, though at this point, Chris barely notices. “C’mon, cochise, let’s...get to the cabin –– I think it’s, uh, gonna rain in a bit, and I dunno about you, but I, for one, don’t–– wanna be stuck out in that.” His brow arches as a smile ( _teeth too sharp, unnaturally greying skin stretching, twisting_ ) curves chapped lips, touching his dark eyes with a teasing light. 

Glancing at the sky, Chris has absolutely no idea how Josh knows that is going to rain. The sky looks clear, mostly, aside from a few innocent-looking white clouds that drifted by, chased by a cool breeze. All the same, he nods, shrugging as he does so. “A compelling argument, J,” he says, shooting a glance towards his best friend. “Lead on, then!” 

The walk is filled with talk that seems to be lost amongst the trees, laughter scaring away a handful of birds every so often. Chris tells Josh about how everyone is doing, complains of work and schoolwork and everything in between, and part of him almost feels guilty for doing so. The spring’s light serves to show him how much Josh has changed –– his limbs growing longer and face growing thinner, teeth wickedly sharp and the angry red of scar tissue where the skin has been torn from his cheek –– and yet here Chris is, prattling on about things that don’t really _matter._ He fights back the urge to apologize, and instead takes a breath, and tells Josh about how working in the grocery store is an absolute _nightmare,_ actually.

It doesn’t take too long to arrive at the cabin, Josh pushing the door open and ushering Chris inside. A fire crackles itself to embers in the fireplace, the scent of woodsmoke hanging in the air, and it is an odd sensation, but a little part of Chris’ heart says, _this is home._ It is absurd, of course, but as he settles on the floor in front of the sofa, back pressing against the worn fabric of it as Josh moves to sit beside him, sitting just a touch too close, Chris thinks that his stupid heart might be right just this one time. 

“Y’know,” Josh says, voice soft and almost lost amongst the crackle of a dying fire, “...I gotta ask, Chris–– Why do you keep...coming back?” 

Chris glances at Josh, catching dark eyes studying him so very intently. Josh’s knee brushes against Chris’, and there is a quiet comfort in that. It feels familiar, feels safe, though Chris has been a little confused about this most recent development: ever since the silent reconciliation of The Event, Josh has seemed to _need_ to be near him whenever he is around. Of course, before all this, physical contact was not something they were unfamiliar with, but this feels _different_ , somehow. 

Chris considers the question, and shrugs. A well of emotion boils beneath his skin, in his veins, an explanation of three unspoken words, three simple words, that he dare not even think: it is something that he has thought before, since they were children, since junior year of high school, something that has hung between them, unspoken and unacknowledged. Instead, Chris swallows it back, feeling a hollow ache in his chest that burns so agonizingly beautiful. He knows it well, of course, and does not put a name to it, instead turning his gaze to meet Josh’s, his expression soft. “I have to,” Chris says simply, “because you’re here.” 

The answer is simple enough, but it seems to take Josh aback all the same. He blinks, studying Chris’ face, expression somehow both so vulnerable and so closed off. There is a warmth in his eyes, a quiet sort of unnameable emotion, and Josh simply nods. “...I, uh. I’m glad you–– do. Keep visitin’ me, I mean,” Josh finally says, voice still soft. There is a momentary hesitation, and an arm is put around Chris’ shoulders.

Chris offers a smile, leaning into Josh ever so slightly. “Me too,” he responds, and the two of them fall into a comfortable sort of silence. 

Chris does not remember falling asleep: however, when he half-awakens, the blue skies of earlier having given way to grey clouds. Apparently Josh had been right: rain now taps against the windowpanes of the cabin, the wind outside making trees creak with the force of the gale. He is only dimly aware of this, the haze of sleep still wrapped about him like a warm blanket. Eyes remain partially closed, sleep weighing down eyelids as he quietly revels in the coziness of it all. A fire crackles before him (Josh must’ve stoked it at some point), and Chris shifts slightly to a more comfortable position.

It is only when he moves ever so slightly that Chris realizes something else: at some point, he seems to have ended up with his back against Josh’s chest, Josh’s arms wrapped loosely around him. Chris’ heart skips a beat a moment, a warmth rising in his chest, and he settles back against Josh’s chest a little more snuggly. 

“Morning, Sleeping Beauty.” Josh’s voice is teasing as he speaks, his smile audible. “...You fell asleep, and...looked like you were going to, uh, fall on your face. Thought I’d spare you that.” The explanation offered, Josh makes no move to change their current position, instead resting his chin atop Chris’ head.

Chris snorts, rolling his eyes. “Aw, gee, thanks, J. You’re my _hero.”_ Though his tone is a touch sarcastic, the little sigh of contentment that follows takes away any punch that it might’ve held. “...How long was I asleep?” he asks, fingers going to gently trace Josh’s knuckles. (God, Josh’s skin is always so cold now –– it feels like ice beneath Chris’ fingertips, and he shivers unconsciously.)

Josh shrugs, though Chris feels it more than he sees it. “An hour, maybe two?” he says. “I’m not really sure, honestly.” 

Chris hums in reply, and they lapse once more into a comfortable quiet. It feels dreamlike, almost, the threat of falling asleep once more hanging over Chris’ head. Idly, he traces little patterns on the back of Josh’s hand and his forearm. There is something so...precious about it, about being held like this: he can feel Josh’s heartbeat against his back, can feel Josh’s chest rise and fall as he breathes, feel the coolness of Josh’s skin against his fingertips. It is so real, just _existing_ like this, Josh all around him, feeling so very safe and secure.

 _Funny, isn’t it? I’ve seen him covered in blood, I know he can kill and he_ does _kill, and yet I’ve never felt safer._

How odd it is to be in the arms of someone so vicious, the perfect hunter, to be held so close, to see the claws and know that he has teeth meant for tearing and ripping, and yet to feel so wholly safe. Chris feels untouchable, feels like nothing can ever hurt him, and he feels his heart swell. His heart is a hummingbird beating at the cage of his ribs, words trapped inside it that wish to escape, but he is a coward. Chris is a coward, and he holds his tongue.

There is so much Chris wants to say: he knows the words, knows what he would say, how he would say it –– God knows that he’s thought about it before –– but right now, in this moment, he does not even dare think them directly. There is an ache in his chest that threatens to swallow him whole as he closes his eyes and simply lets himself be held. Teeth worry his lower lip as he feels Josh sigh so very quietly, and Chris thinks that he might cry. Tears, unshed, burn at his eyes, breath rasping in his throat as he swallows back emotion. He wants–– He wants, he _wants_ so desperately that he thinks he might die, he wants to stay like this forever. He wants this moment to be crystallized, to live in it infinitely, but God, he knows he can’t. Heartbreak is something that Chris is no stranger to, but this is a different kind of agony, a flowering sort of pain that morphs into something almost honey-sweet. 

A breath is drawn, and Chris thinks to himself that there is no pain so exquisitely beautiful like the heartbreak of loving that which one cannot have.

Chris swallows the agony, the delicious bittersweet agony, and he pretends for a moment that everything is alright. Chris pretends that this is his everything: he is being held by the boy that he has –– _no, stop the thought there._ He is safe, Josh is safe, and Chris carefully laces his fingers with Josh’s in the softest of gestures. In this moment, in the grey early evening, rain tapping on the windows, everything feels golden. 

_(Maybe, in another life. Maybe, in another place. Maybe, maybe.)_

They do not move until it starts to get dark, the rain slowing to a quiet drizzle as the wind settles down. “...You should probably get home,” Josh says, his voice a little hoarse from disuse. “Before it gets dark, y’know? Before it, uh, gets dangerous.”

Chris cannot help the _But this feels like home_ that springs to mind, and instead he nods. He does not want to move, but he feels Josh beginning to shift, and, with some regret, Chris begins to get to his feet. There is a sense of...not loss, not quite, but something close, something that tastes bitter on the back of his tongue. A hollowness, maybe, a hunger for something that cannot be.

“Yeah,” Chris replies instead, stretching a bit as he speaks. He feels his back crack a bit, and he sighs as hands fall to his sides. “Yeah, that’s probably smart.”

“Lemme walk you to–– to the cable car,” Josh says, glancing out the window to the darkening skies as he speaks. It got late so quickly, Chris realizes, and he shivers unconsciously, feeling slightly relieved at Josh’s offer. During the day, with Josh, the mountain might feel a bit safer, but as dusk begins to fall… He can’t deny the relief that he feels at Josh’s request.

“Sure, Josh,” Chris says, giving his oldest friend a little smile. “Thanks.”

The walk is a quick one –– or rather, it feels that way. Josh sticks close to Chris’ side, and Chris can’t help but notice the way that Josh’s head turns at every little sound, at every movement. It reminds Chris of the way a cat might track a bird it is hunting, movements quick and yet so precisely controlled. It is so unlike the Josh that he used to know: the realization feels heavy, cold, and Chris pushes the thought away. 

As they come to a stop at the head of the path, Chris hesitates before he turns away. He looks at Josh, studies him in the dim light of the rainy evening, and he gets the feeling that Josh wants to say something. Chris’ heart leaps, skips a beat, and words rise in his throat as he sees Josh take a breath. Wishful thinking runs rampant, his heart hijacking his brain, and Chris swallows hard as he feels cold raindrops splash against his skin. 

There is a subtle shift in Josh, one that most might not even notice, but Chris does. He notices the way that Josh’s gaze falls from his face, notices the way that Josh swallows and glances off to the side. “Be safe, cochise,” is all Josh says, “and I’ll see you later, ok?” There is something there, though, something in the way he speaks, the way he holds himself, and Chris understands. 

“Of course,” Chris says, giving Josh a smile, a bittersweet smile as he feels the weight of all the _maybes_ that hang between them. “I’ll see you soon, J.”

**Author's Note:**

> Legally, at some point I've gotta just write some pure soft shit.


End file.
